Across the Mansion: Lily in the Lake with Gators
by Aquarian Wolf
Summary: The Ghost Host brings his tour to the portrait gallery, where a certain tightrope walker gives a rousing performance!


A/N: The Beatles wrote "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds," which this spoofs. The Haunted Mansion, the Ghost Host, and the stretch portraits all belong to Disney. The names Widow Patecleaver and Alexander Nitrokoff appeared in a WDI script in 1968. You can find out more about these characters in Werecat Boy's story, "The Gallery of the Macabre." Thanks to WB for being my great editor!

* * *

Across the Mansion: Lily in the Lake with Gators

Booming like a clap of thunder, the door slammed shut. With its closing it vanished, leaving not even a thin sliver of light to give away where wall ended and moveable panel began. Stripes of dull red and denim blue on a background of off white trailed upwards above the short walls of dark wood. It was if the door had never existed. The finer details of the chamber were hard to see, but not because of the thick coats of dust and cobwebs. Candles, flickering pitifully in air that was deathly still, tried with timid effort to light the room. Their flames shook in fear of their captors—eight equally spaced, open mouthed, grinning gargoyle scones. They perched on raised pedestals, crouched in a silent threat to pounce upon anyone who dared to try to escape before they wanted them to.

In-between each couple of gargoyles was a portrait. Every painting showed a stately young man or woman. Expressions varied: From the knowing smile of the gray haired, rose clutching matron; to the dignified scowl of a balding, bearded statesman; or the smirk of a round faced gentleman; and the straight lined lips of a dainty young lady staring off into the distance.

This last image was disquieting, standing out in sharp contrast to its siblings. For someone so lovely and obviously so privledged—one could tell, just looking at her carefully styled ringlets, her perfect gloves, and her fashionable peach parasol—why is she the only one not smiling, the only one lacking arrogance? They say a picture's worth a thousand words, yet this one doesn't seem to be saying much…

_Our tour takes us here, to this gallery. Here you'll behold some of our guests as they appeared in their corruptible, mortal state…_

"Corruptible? Us?" a scratchy voice called out. "Do you hear that? Mr. Ghost Host is calling us _corruptible_! Why, the very idea!"

_Huh?_

"On the wall stupid!"

The Ghost Host turned his attention away from his spiel to the interrupter, the elderly woman. She now had her shawl draped arms folded across her chest and a scowl on her face. "I don't know who you're calling 'corruptible,' young man, but it most certainly isn't me! I was a saint!" She put her hands together like she was praying and gazed upward, her smile as fake as the halo she imagined was above her head.

_Perhaps you are confused about the definition in particular I was referring to. I meant it in the very obvious sense that—_

"A saint? Ha!" The politician gave an indignant sniff. "A saint of liars maybe!" He pointed an accusing finger at her. "Keep your hands clasped, Patecleaver; it makes you look like what you truly are… a praying mantis!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" The widow Patecleaver stuck her nose up in the air with a high pitched "Huumph!"

With a screaming creak and a wailing groan, the walls began to stretch. Ancient wood cried out in protest as the chamber's support moaned. As the walls lengthened, so did the pictures, revealing the truth of these mysterious characters.

The old woman looked down as her seat became a tall tombstone. Swinging her legs to the side, she tried to cover up the epitaph. Re… n… eace…ear…oved…ge it read. Looking understandably shocked was a mustached bust sitting at the base of the grave. It had a hatchet plunged down right above its brow.

She coughed, but remained dedicated to her stubborn fib. "That doesn't prove anything! I'm just keeping this seat warm for Constance until she gets back." Pretending to be unfazed, she concentrated on sticking the rose into her bun.

Laughing, the politician rolled his eyes. "Sure you are!"

"Better watch yourself, Nitrokoff! You don't want your…_ahem…_personal affairs to be known, do you?" She pulled out the flower and flung it. It sailed, disappearing behind the frame, and then reappeared in Nitrokoff's portrait and hit his hip.

He looked down and discovered he was only wearing boxers as he stood on top of a keg of lit dynamite. Giggling nervously, he threw his hands down to cover himself. "Well," he tried to sputter out an excuse, "embezzling thousands from foreign diplomats is perfectly acceptable for a politician. It's practically patriotic!"

Flustered that attention had been taken away from him, the Ghost Host loudly cleared his throat. _A-HEM! Is this haunted room actually stretching? Or is it your--_

Three voices chorused at once. "At least we were honest about _our _cheating!" The one smug gentleman was now sitting on the shoulders of a surprised fellow, who had his knees tightly gripped around the neck of a thin man who looked like he couldn't decide if he was going to puke or scream. He was up to his chest in quicksand. The towering trio swayed unsteadily as the muck beneath them bubbled and made gross sucking noises.

After a short pause, the man in the middle admitted, "To an extent. "

"Yeah," said the top of the stack, "but at least we all _knew _each one wasn't playing fair. It's not like we expected one another to actually play poker _honestly_! I mean," he scoffed, "who does _that?"_

Quivering, the lowest form squeaked, "P-P-People wh-who aren't st-stupid enough to –pah-play c-cards in qu-quicksand?" He suddenly shrieked. "SOMETHING SLIMY TOUCHED MY ANKLE! SAND SNAKE!"

"The only snake in the sand is you!" snapped the middle man.

_Please! If I could just get two minutes—_

He was drowned out by the shouting and grumbling of the five con artists until someone bellowed…

"QUIET!"

The fighting ceased as everyone turned and looked at the young woman who had been silent until now. Her pink slippers were balanced on top of an unraveling rope above a lake. Below her a V-shape zig-zagged through the water, making its way closer to her. Blue eyes rapidly darting from left to right and lips pursed, she was at a loss for what to say. She coughed. "Sorry, I was just getting' so tired of all the bickerin', and the poor man is tryin' to give his tour." She closed her parasol and waved it at the others. "Y'all should be ashamed of yourselves, interruptin' like that!"

The others hung their heads, faces flushed in embarrassment.

"Quite right, dear," mumbled Nitrokoff.

"We're sorry, Lily," the quicksand men chorused.

Widow Patecleaver stuck out her lip in a pout. Then she sharply jerked her gaze back to Lily and frowned. "Oh, listen to you, pretending to be little Miss Sweet and Perfect!" she gushed. "Blech!" She stuck out her tongue in disgust. "Drop the façade, dearie."

Lily balanced her parasol on her chin as she capered across the rope. "I don't recollect what you're talking about." She raised up one leg and twirled to face the opposite direction, then pranced to the other side. Beneath the bowing rope, an alligator slowly emerged and opened its fang-filled mouth wide. "The worst thing I ever did was choke a 'gator!"

The reptile seemed to give this thought and slowly closed its mouth and sunk back down.

"I remember that day… It's an odd story really…" She started twirling the parasol like a baton.

_Well, we really should move on with the tour. So much time has been wasted already, and I'm afraid our guests get a bit…restless…_

She threw the parasol in the air and caught in triumphantly. "All right! You talked me into it!" The lights suddenly dimmed and a spotlight focused on her.

_What?! What's going on! What is this, the Tiki Room?_

"I'd be a poor performer if I didn't give a good show to my audience, now wouldn't I? Luckily, I got those delightful little fellas with the candles to be my backup. They'll know when to jump in. Let's hit it!

Picture a girl on a rope above a river,

With moss covered trees and gray, cloudy skies.

And then the rope snaps. The jaws open slowly.

A beast with sharp fangs and bright yellow eyes.

.

Skirts with flowers of blood red and green,

Go tumbling over her head.

Look at the girl with the fear in her eyes…

Then she's gone."

.

"Lily in the lake with gators!

Lily in the lake with gators!  
Lily in the lake with gators!

Ahh! Ahh!"

.

"Swallowed right down and blood spurts like a fountain,

While gawking, shocked people scream horrified cries.

The gator smiles as he swims and devours,

The girl so agile and shy.

.

Her husband Gracey bolts down to the shore,

Hoping to pull her away.

Trips in the water, his screams oh so loud,

But she's gone."

.

"Lily in the lake with gators!

Lily in the lake with gators!  
Lily in the lake with gators!

Ahh! Ahh!"

.

"See now framed canvas at high elevation,

With delicate borders with curving brass lines.

Suddenly stretching, it shows fangs in a smile,

Of a beast with bright yellow eyes."

.

"Lily in the lake with gators!

Lily in the lake with gators!  
Lily in the lake with gators!

Ahh! Ahh!"

The lights came back on and the gargoyles were as they always had been, silent and sitting. When the Ghost Host spoke again, the trace of a grin was in his voice.

_I may have to step up my performance. Everyone's a star here, aren't they?_

Flashing him a huge smile, Lily winked. "Just me, babe." As the alligator eased itself back up for another try at a snack, she smacked him with her parasol.


End file.
